Sara stood outside the door with Faith. They both silently watched the woman riffle Lena and Jared’s private things. The top three drawers obviously belonged to Lena. Her underthings were mostly utilitarian, though Nell managed to make a huffing sound when she found something that crossed the line. The bottom drawers belonged to Jared. They were filled with basketball shorts, T-shirts, and boxers. He wore a uniform eighty percent of his day. He probably had one suit in the closet for weddings and funerals and a couple of polos and khakis for less formal occasions.
Nell stopped her search. She rested her hands on her hips as she looked around the room. “I know he hasn’t stopped wearing pajamas.”
Sara kept her mouth shut right up until Nell made her way to the bedside table. “Nell.”
She looked up, but kept her hand on the drawer pull.
“That’s probably Lena’s.” Sara indicated the flattened book, which was clearly a romance novel, beside the hand lotion and tube of lip balm.
When Nell didn’t move, Faith said, “You probably don’t want to know what your son’s wife keeps in her bedside table.” She added, “Or your son, for that matter.”
“What on earth does that—”
She was cut off by the sound of motorcycle engines. Sara turned around. The front door was wide open. She saw at least six motormen in the street. If Sara knew cops, they’d come here to look after Jared’s mother. And just in time, too.
Faith seized on the opportunity, suggesting to Nell, “Why don’t you go talk to Jared’s friends? I’m sure they want to know how he’s doing.”
“I don’t have time to be everybody’s mama,” Nell grumbled, but she stomped out of the room anyway.
“Man.” Faith waited until Nell was out of earshot. “That woman has a razor for a mouth.”
Sara kept her own counsel. “Did you talk to Charlie?”
“He briefed me earlier.” Faith looked back at the bedroom. “Nell’s gonna get a call in a few minutes from the hospital. Jared’s fever is up.”
“He has an infection?”
“That’s what the nurse said.”
Nurses were seldom wrong about these things. Sara thought of Nell’s steely determination, all the plans she’d made in the last few hours for when Jared finally woke up. “I don’t think she’ll make it if he dies.”
“It’s always the strong ones who break the hardest.”
Sara tucked her chin to her chest.
Faith entered the room, walking across the dried blood with a cop’s impunity. “I guess I should look for those pajamas. Maybe that’ll make her feel like she’s helping him.”
“Maybe.” Sara leaned against the doorjamb as Faith searched the closet. She stared at the footprints scattered across the floor. The blood was so dry that it had skeletonized, but Charlie had been careful. Sara could still track the progress. It helped that Lena had such small feet. Sara always forgot how petite she was, barely five-four and probably one-ten on a heavy day.
Charlie Reed had said that four initial responders came from the neighborhood. Judging by the bloody prints on the floor, they had each waited by the bathroom door as the others took turns working on Jared. That left the two sets of boot prints to the assailants. They had both sported the cowboy variety, with flat plastic soles that left distinct exclamation points in the blood. One had a skull and crossbones carved into each heel. The other pair was an off brand with a generic set of furrows. Both of the attackers pronated, probably from riding motorcycles.
But that didn’t account for all of the prints.
Sara walked over to the bed. She knelt down, asking Faith, “Two attackers, right?”
Faith’s voice was muffled as she dug around the closet shelves.
“That’s right.”
“Four responders?”
“Uhhh …” She drew out the word. “Yep. Two cops, an off-duty paramedic, and a chick with the fire department.”
“What about this?”
Faith turned around.
Sara pointed to a shoe print right up against Jared’s bedside table. This one was also from a boot, but it was larger than the other two and the heel had the distinctive logo of a Cat’s Paw no-slip rubber sole.
Faith turned back to the closet. She didn’t seem interested. “I’m sure Charlie got it.”
“But look at the prints. Lena was barefooted. The attackers wore cowboy boots.” She pointed to the other prints. “Two of the neighbors wore sneakers, the third one probably had on bedroom slippers, and the fourth one was wearing socks.”
Faith pulled a couple of pairs of sweatpants off the shelf. She added a T-shirt from the dirty-clothes basket. “These can pass for pajamas, right?”
Slowly, Sara stood up. “Aren’t you concerned that a third assailant might’ve been here last night?”
“Are you saying that I’m not doing my job?”
“No.” Sara felt properly chastened. “No, of course not.”
“You’re forgetting the EMTs.” Faith counted it off on her fingers. “Three crews, right? Jared was taken out first. The second shooter was next, the first was taken to the morgue, so that’s six more guys at least, which is twelve more possibilities for prints. And God only knows who traipsed in here from Macon PD.”
“Charlie told me the cops from the 911 call stayed out of the bedroom.”
“Really?” Faith didn’t sound happy, but Sara kept talking.
“He also said that the first ambulance took a while to get here. The extraneous blood would’ve been dry in five, ten minutes tops. So unless an EMT purposely stepped in the pool of blood around Jared, then walked over here, there’s no way that any of them could’ve made this third print.” Sara put a finer point on it. “Whoever left this boot print was here when the crime occurred.”
“That’s where the second assailant fell,” Faith said, her voice straining to sound reasonable. “I’m sure one of the first EMTs checked on him. Right? They wouldn’t just rush in, see one body, and leave the other two without checking on them.”
“The EMTs were most likely in 5.11 Tacticals.” Sara was familiar with the boots, which were specifically designed for paramedics and firefighters. “And even without that, the blood was obviously dry by the time they got here. You don’t see any other prints from the EMTs, do you? Not even around Jared.”
Faith gave a heavy sigh. “There was a lot going on in this room last night. There’s no telling where that print came from. All right?”
Sara nodded, but only to keep the peace. It was absolutely possible, even probable, that one of the EMTs had checked on the second assailant before leaving the house. But there was no way in hell he’d stood over the body and leaned down to do it. The EMT would be on his knees as he ran vitals. Unless he was a contortionist, there was no reason for him to wedge his foot against the bedside table.
“Look.” Faith closed the closet door. “I know you’re good at this, Sara, but this is Charlie’s scene. He’s been here practically from the minute Jared was carried out. Maybe it’s Charlie’s shoe that made the print, or one of his guys. Or maybe he’s tracked it back to an EMT who tripped or stepped where he should’nt’ve or whatever. Charlie will do all the rule-outs and trace it back to someone. You know the process. No stone unturned.”
“You’re right,” Sara agreed, but she had seen Faith lie enough to know what it looked like. Obviously, something else was going on.
Faith said, “Come on. Let’s see if my plan worked.” She left the room.
Sara assumed she was supposed to follow. She took one last look at the boot print before heading back up the hallway. Her medical examiner’s mind wouldn’t shut off just because she hadn’t done the job in years. The Cat’s Paw logo said a lot about the owner of the boot. He was frugal, the type of person who would resole a shoe rather than throw it out. Going by the size, he was at least six feet tall or more. He worked in a job that required a nonconducting, nonslip sole—probably a mechanic or electrician or builder. Analysis would show if
there was any oil or residue transferred from the porous rubber sole. Known associates of the assailants could be narrowed down from there. Barring that, a simple phone call to the shoe repair stores in the area could easily generate a list of customers who’d purchased Cat’s Paw soles.
Which was probably what someone on Charlie’s team was doing right now.
Faith was right. Charlie was very good at his job. So was Faith, for that matter. If they were hiding something, it was probably for a good reason. As much as Sara felt otherwise, she had to keep reminding herself that she was firmly on the outside looking in.
Faith stood at the open front door. In the street, the motormen had surrounded Nell in a protective huddle. They all seemed relaxed and talkative. Sara was sure they were telling Nell stories of Jared’s many exploits. Whether or not they were true didn’t matter. There was no better liar than a cop spinning a yarn.
“I’m shocked they listened to me,” Faith admitted. “I told them to take up donations for the cleaning service. I figured even old Razor Mouth wouldn’t be rude enough to say no.”
Sara laughed despite herself. “That’s pretty smart.”
“One of Amanda’s tricks—but don’t tell her I’m using it. People think they’re gonna be judged if they hire someone else to clean up their mess. I think it’s a southern thing.” She walked back to the kitchen. “I’ll see if I can get them to pitch in and finish the kitchen, too. Jesus, I woulda killed him myself if I had to wash dishes out of a bucket.”
“It’s not as bad as it looks,” Sara pointed out. The bucket had a hole in the bottom that led to the drain. A garden hose was threaded to the faucet to extend the reach. It was exactly the kind of thing that Jeffrey would’ve done—completely rigged yet unquestionably functional.
By contrast, Will would’ve been horrified by the contraption. He shared a lot of qualities with Jeffrey, but he would not rest until a project was not just finished, but finished right. Or at least the way he felt was right. It drove Will crazy that the builder who’d worked on Sara’s apartment hadn’t painted the top edges of all the doors.
“Do me a favor?” Faith was rummaging through the stack of mail on the kitchen table. “Check to see if Nell’s still outside.”
Sara stood on the tips of her toes to see down the hill. Nell was still talking to the cops. “Yes. Why?”
Faith ripped open one of the envelopes.
“Isn’t that illegal?”
“Only if I get caught.” Her eyes skimmed what looked like an invoice. “Jared opened it, right? Only he can’t remember because of his head injury.”
“That’s inviting some bad karma.”
“And it wasn’t even worth it.” Faith folded the invoice. “You’ll be pleased to know that Lena’s Pap smear was normal.” She tucked the paper back into the envelope. “I should go tell Nell about Jared. The doctor should’ve called by now.”
“Wait.” Sara said, “I know it’s not likely to come up, but Nell doesn’t know about Will. I mean, me and Will. Together.” She felt her heart start to jump, like she was telling a fib to her mother. “I’d like to keep it that way.”
If Faith was surprised, she didn’t show it. “Okay. I won’t say anything.”
Sara felt compelled to give an explanation. “It’s just that Will’s still legally married and …” She let her voice trail off. There was no reason to lie. “They just loved Jeffrey so much. They wouldn’t understand how I was able to move on.” Sara paused. “Sometimes, I wonder how I did it myself.”
“I’m glad you did.” Faith leaned against the table. “Will loves you, you know? I mean, crazy love. He was never this way with Angie. From the day he met you, his feet stopped touching the ground.”
Sara smiled, though the last thing she wanted to think about right now was Will’s elusive wife.
Faith said, “Seriously, I’ve never seen him like this before. You’ve changed him. You’ve made him—” She shrugged, as if she couldn’t quite believe it. “Happy.”
Unreasonably, Sara felt tears well into her eyes. “He’s made me happy, too.”
“Then that’s all that matters.” Faith wriggled her eyebrows. “ ‘This, too, shall pass.’ ”
Sara wiped her eyes. “There’s been an alarming number of people quoting Bible verses at me today.”
“My mother got my name from the Bible. I’m supposed to be the substance of things hoped for. Talk about wishful thinking.” Faith pushed away from the table. “I really should get Nell. How bad is an infection at this stage?”
“They’ll probably bring in somebody from the CDC.” The Centers for Disease Control had a dedicated team serving the Atlanta area. “It’s good that we’re close.”
“That doesn’t sound cheerful.”
“No,” Sara admitted. “Infections are unpredictable. People respond differently to treatment. No two patients have the same outcome. If the infection is somewhere like his heart or his brain, then the odds are low he’ll survive, and even then, it’s a tough recovery.” She felt the need to add, “But he’s young and otherwise healthy. That counts for a lot.”
“Shit, here she comes.” Faith waited for Nell to make her way up the porch steps. She had a FedEx padded mailer in one hand and a small envelope in the other.
“I guess you’ll get your wish.” Nell tucked the envelope into her back pocket. “They say they take up a collection when stuff like this happens. I didn’t want to be rude, but it’s not like I’m an invalid.” Her words were hard, but Sara could see the relief on Nell’s face. The deep lines had smoothed from her forehead. Some of the tension was gone from her jaw. “They’re nice boys. I shouldn’t complain.”
Faith said, “They feel as helpless as you do, Mrs. Long. Doing something for you, even something that you’re capable of doing on your own, makes them feel better.”
“I suppose,” Nell admitted. She held up the FedEx mailer. The word PERSONAL was written across the back in red marker. “The delivery guy dropped this off while we were in the street. It’s addressed to Lena. Says it’s personal. I didn’t know if I should open it or not.”
“Is there a return address?” Faith sounded disinterested, though Sara knew better.
Nell squinted at the label. “It’s all smeared. Should I open it?”
Faith’s shrug was almost believable. “If you want. It might be something Lena needs.”
Nell guffawed. “They say the same thing here as in Alabama—you can piss on my face, but don’t tell me it’s raining?”
Faith’s smile showed her teeth.
“That’s what I thought.” Nell went to the kitchen and retrieved her purse from the counter. Sara wasn’t surprised when she pulled out a large utility knife, but Faith obviously was. Her eyebrows shot straight up.
“Let’s see what personal thing we got here.” Nell sliced open the top of the padded mailer. She peered inside the envelope, her eyes narrowed as if she wasn’t quite sure what she was seeing.
Sara asked, “What is it?”
Nell reached into the package. “I don’t—”
The mailer dropped to the floor.
Nell held up a tiny jacket, the sort of thing you’d buy for a baby. It was dark blue with orange piping down the sleeves and an Auburn University logo across the back.
Her lips parted in surprise. She looked at Sara, then Faith, then down at the little jacket again. She cupped the hoodie sewn into the back of the collar.
Wordlessly, Nell ran into the hallway, her shoulder catching the corner. Sara was close on her heels as Nell entered the spare bedroom.
“He didn’t—” Nell’s voice caught. She stood in the middle of the room, the jacket gripped tightly in her hands. “How could he not—” A strangled cry came out of her mouth. She buried her face in the small jacket. “Oh, God.”
Faith came up behind Sara. Her mouth was set. Guilt virtually radiated off her skin.
“This is a nursery,” Nell whispered, clutching the jacket to her chest. “He was workin
g on a nursery.” Her fingers traced the back of the closet door. The outline of several balloons had been drawn with a pencil. Cans of brightly colored paint were on the floor. There were art brushes and sponges and trays to hold the paint.
Nell stared at Faith. Her tone was deadly sharp. “You knew.”
Faith didn’t bother to lie this time.
A phone started ringing. Nell checked her pocket for her cell phone. Her voice shook as she answered, “Possum, what is it? I’m busy now.” She listened, nodding a few times before she closed the phone and put it back in her pocket. “Jared’s got an infection.” Her tone was matter-of-fact. “They say I need to get back up there.”
“I’ll drive you,” Sara offered.
“No.” Nell held the baby’s jacket against her chest. “I need some time alone, all right? Can you drive her back?” She was talking to Faith. “I just need some time, okay?”
Nell didn’t wait for an answer. She left the room. All the air seemed to go with her.
Faith let out a long sigh. “That was awful.”
Sara said nothing.
Faith studied her carefully. “Sara?”
Sara shook her head as she took in the nursery, the way the light from the windows fell across the floor. The yellow walls were cheery and warm. She could imagine sheers hanging in the windows, a summer breeze rustling the edges. Balloons would be painted around the walls to match the closet door. The jacket would hang on a tiny plastic hanger—something colorful to match the décor. The hoodie wasn’t sized for a newborn, but at three to six months, Lena’s baby would be big enough to wear it. Faith said, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”
Sara could only keep shaking her head. She didn’t trust herself to speak.
One of the last things that Sara and Jeffrey had planned together was adopting a baby. Sara couldn’t have children of her own. It had taken years for her and Jeffrey to be in the same place about adoption, to decide that they were ready to raise a child together.
Then Jeffrey had died, and Sara had come completely undone. The adoption agency returned their application. At the time, Sara barely registered the rejection. She’d been incapable of taking care of herself, let alone a baby.